Just Another Day at the Office
by springburn
Summary: A mini-fic set before Malcolm and Sam are an item. Set before my fic After the Party. A shit storm hits DoSAC and Malcolm has to deal with it! More political satire, comedy, less fluff!


This mini-fic is set before Malcolm and Sam are an item. The frisson is there, but not openly acknowledged. So it probably takes place before my After the Party fic! It is written as an episode of The Thick of It. It is more about the political satire and comedy and less of the love interest!

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE.

It was disgustingly early, before seven. Both Malcolm and Sam were already in the office. She, going through his emails; he, sitting at his desk trying to eat a breakfast muffin without completely peppering himself with crumbs, whilst messaging on his Blackberry at the same time.  
His desk looked like a hurricane hit it; papers, files, coffee cups, all manner of detritus.  
"SAAAAMMMMM!"  
A shower of cake crumbs came from his mouth.  
"See if you can find the top of my fucking desk, will you sweetheart?"  
"I can't even see the phone!"  
Sam sighed and began sorting and stacking.  
"And can you organise my clean shirt from the dry cleaners...the pale blue Paul Smith one?"  
"Yes Malcolm, anything else?"  
"Nicola's giving her environmental interview this morning in the park, I'll have to go over to DoSAC, by 8.30...Christ, I hope she doesn't fuck up this time, I've briefed her to within an inch of her miserable life, and it's my bollocks on the line!"  
"Well, she won't be standing in front of a hoarding, so at least we can't have a repeat of ' I Am Bent!" Observed Sam.  
"Aye! What could possibly go wrong eh?"  
Sam declined to comment.

Malcolm's mobile trilled.  
"Glenn, my little Tinky-Winky...how the fuck are you?"  
He listened intently, head cocked to one side slightly.  
"Right, I'll be over in less time than it takes a teenager to masturbate."  
"SAM! ...Phone the car round darlin'. I'm away to DoSAC and you're with me...I'm the fucking Lone Ranger, and I need my Tonto!"  
"Yes, Kemosabe!" Replied Sam.  
Malcolm turned to her, eyebrows raised, then broke into a smile.  
"Best fucking PA in the world!" He said.  
"You'd better believe it!" She laughed.

She loved days like these.

Adrenaline fuelled, Malcolm pumped up and ready to take on the world, while she followed in his wake. It was like being on the set of Braveheart, except he wasn't in a kilt...painted blue...now there was a thought...  
The car deposited them at DoSAC's offices, Malcolm pushed through the glass swing doors, and marched purposefully up to the lift, files tucked under one arm. Sam had to practically trot to keep up with him.  
Entering the main office, was like Moses parting the Red Sea, as people scattered, left and right, terrified, as he passed through.  
"Morning lab rats!" He cried," someone get the fucking News channel on, we need to see how Our Minister, will perform today. It'll be better than Britain's Got fucking Talent!"  
The plasma screen was switched on and the office staff gathered round.  
The intro music began, and the first item up was Nicola Murray. The camera panned across the sun drenched park. As it was still early morning the suns trajectory was low...  
"Holy shit...!"  
"What is she w...?"  
Malcolm's fist was up at his face, he bit into his knuckle as he watched the horror unfold before his eyes.  
The stifled titters of laughter from the likes of Ollie, juxtaposed with the gasps of astonishment from Glenn Cullen.  
Malcolm said nothing...eyes riveted to the screen.  
Nicola was wearing what looked like a muslin summer dress. The sunlight silhouetted her perfectly, lighting her completely from behind. It highlighted, under the dress, in all their splendour; stockings and suspenders and what appeared to be a basque or corset, in glorious technicolor.  
"She's dressed as a fucking Dominatrix under that dress...for Christ's sake!"  
"She's scheduled to meet her husband for 'lunch' after the interview...I knew her and James were having a few issues, but..."  
Malcolm clapped his hands together loudly, making everyone jump, then swung into action. Pacing up and down.  
"Well, he'll have to keep his butt plug warm for another time...ring whoever's with her, get her back here, pronto."  
"Terri, you're not the fastest of movers, but you'd better get me some press people on the phone, so quick that Linford fucking Christie couldn't catch you."  
"We've got to push this off the front page and in amongst the charity runs and the missing pets.  
 **FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!** It's like running a frigging nursery school, except the toddlers have got more fucking brains. Jesus Christ!  
Glenn...Peter Mannion is giving a street interview, on the new opposition's 'let's cut the Whitehall Budget' mandate, this morning, get your sorry arse down there, listen in, see what he says, maybe he'll say something **so** fucking stupid, we can use it to bury Madame Cyn!"  
"Robyn...how about some tea, sweetheart , we're all as dry as a witches tit here."

Both Malcolm's mobiles rang simultaneously. He held one out as Sam automatically held out _her_ hand to take, and answer it. Such was the close level of collaboration between them. Malcolm answered the second. A string of expletives hit the air, the vein on his temple pulsed.

"I will take a fucking hammer and I will nail your scrawny arse to the wall, if you don't get back here ASA fucking P, you cunt, and bring Mrs. Slap and Tickle with you."

He pressed the 'end call' button theatrically.

Sam passed the other phone to him and mouthed 'Daily Express' to Malcolm as she did so.

He took it from her hand, with a vicious scowl, then turned it into a crocodile smile as he spoke.

"Richard! Fancy hearing from you, this fine morning...me?...no...I'm just fine and dandy! Tickety-boo! I hear that lovely lady friend of yours is expecting...wonderful news! Oh...your wife doesn't know...oh! I'm _sorry_ , I'll be careful not to mention it to anyone then. Can't have that sort of news getting out can we?"

The called ended.

"Cunt!" Said Malcolm into the, now dead, phone. Replacing it in his inside jacket pocket.

Glenn Cullen, flushed in the face and exited, dashed into the office.

"He's done it Malcolm...he's said that stupid thing!"

"What the fuck are you gabbling about?" Malcolm whirled round.

"Mannion...in the interview, he said young people shouldn't stay in bed till lunchtime and should get off their arses, get up and find a job!"

"You're fucking kidding me!"

"No, I'm not, and he did...or words to that effect anyway...the interviewer was asking him about cutting benefits."

"Alle...fucking...luia...saved by the bloody bell!

Right...pull out all the stops on this, this is what we need on tomorrow's front pages.

Thank Christ for that, I was seriously thinking I'd have to go with my cock between my legs to Kelly Grogan...and I'd actually rather chop off my own nuts and eat them on toast."

Sam grimaced involuntarily at the mention of the Grogan name. It was common knowledge that she and Malcolm had been an item, and that she was now with Simon Hewitt. Malcolm had been heard, on more than one occasion, threatening to eviscerate that 'little cock-sucker', there was no love lost there.

Nicola and her entourage arrived back at DoSAC...Malcolm pounced on her, arms waving, neck taut. Sam, watched him...

'God, she thought, you'll have a stroke one of these days.'

"Before you say anything Malcolm...I _know_ it was the wrong dress...I know that now!" She wailed.

"The wrong dress? The wrong dress! The wrong trousers Gromit! For the love of fuck! Have you not heard of the concept of the petticoat? Or even a skirt that has more substance to it than a bloody net curtain!

The whole country could see what you had for fucking breakfast Nicola!"

"It's muslin, I thought it was summery and floral, and pretty." Her face was beetroot red.

"Oh! Muslin is it?...what are we, Jane fucking Austen? Elizabeth fucking Bennett? Christ on a bike!"

Nicola disappeared into her office and shut the door.

Meanwhile, phone calls were being made, Mannion's press agency were busy releasing a statement to say he'd been misinterpreted...cogs were turning, wheels in motion.

Malcolm's mobile was his hot line, calling in favours from journo's, over whom he seemed to have a certain power.

By the early evening, having been frantically on the go all day; no lunch, just coffee, Fanta's and biscuits, Malcolm and Sam were in the car on their way back to Number 10. Crisis apparently averted.

Malcolm ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his eyes, with frightening severity. He slumped back against the headrest, and puffed out his cheeks.

"Now all we have to do is wait for the 10 o'clock News and the front pages of tomorrow's press." He said with a sigh.

"I'm fucking starving...have you eaten, Sam?"

"No," she replied," nothing since half six this morning."

"George!...Sorry pal, can we find a Chinese or something somewhere, before we get back to Downing Street?" He leaned forward to speak, hand resting on the back of the drivers seat.

Half an hour later, they were in Malcolm's office. Desk cleared of clutter, foil cartons and paper plates spread out. They sat opposite each other, eating with chop-sticks.

"Fuck me, what a day!" Malcolm groaned, through a mouthful of Chow Mein.

"It's nearly News time." Said Sam, passing him the prawn crackers.

"Right, let's see the damage then, shall we?" He switched on the box.

As it happened, the article was quite curtailed, it did not come up first in the running order, or even second or third. Just a cursory few seconds air time was all it warranted.

Malcolm sighed, visibly relieved.

"Thank fuck for that!" He said.

"You should be away home Sam, it's getting late," he said, turning in his chair to face her again.

"You can take the car, and send it back for me later."

"That's okay, Malc, I've got some things I don't want to leave till the morning, and there's more Sweet and Sour here, and I'm still hungry! I'll wait for 'What the Papers Say', then cadge a ride with you...if that's alright with you, that is?"

"Fine with me, Darl, but it's not fair, to keep you so late, you've done more fucking work today than all those wankers put together!"

"It's fine, really. I'm fine! I'm only going home to cocoa and a DVD!"

"Fucking hell, your other life sounds as exciting as mine...how we Super Heroes live eh?"

"Yep...bet Lois Lane would be envious!" She laughed.

"Does that mean, I'm Superman?...Fuck no, Sam...it's the tights, and those pants! I couldn't wear them...my dick's too big." He smirked.

"Yeah, right!" She nearly choked on a mouthful. "Maybe you should be Banana Man then..."

Malcolm, laughed again, pointing a chopstick at her...

"Now, look here you, I'll not take insubordination from my employees!"

Sam smiled, tucking a tendril of hair behind one ear.

God, she was in love with him...did he not see it?

The intro music for 'What the Papers Say' took his attention away.

"Here we go! Brace yourself for a hail of shit!"

He turned up the volume.

Headlines...

 _"Mannion says 'on your bike'."_ Express _._

 _"Get out of bed says Mannion!"_ Mirror _._

 _"MP slates youth of today."_ Telegraph _._

 _"Eastenders star in Club brawl."_ Sun _._

Nicola was not on the front page of any of the main papers.

"BOOM! Back of the net!" Malcolm crowed. Slamming down his Chinese carton and spilling some of its contents.

"Fucking high five...Scully!"

He raised his hand for her to clap against with her own.

"Scully? _Scully_?" She hooted with laughter, "If you think you're Mulder, then you need new glasses...or a really good Plastic Surgeon!"

"Great!...fucking kick a man in the bollocks, why don't you!"

He chuckled.

The car dropped her at her flat, sometime later.

"Night, Malc, see you tomorrow."

"Night, Sam...thanks for staying late. Thanks for being my Tonto!"

"My pleasure! Get some sleep, you look done in!"

"Yes, mum! Night."

The car drove away. Malcolm relaxed back into the leather seat. He could still smell a waft of her perfume.

God, he was in love with her...did she not see it?


End file.
